’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her. He will say who it was. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. With a gesture which was without any kind of emotional expression, the manager indicated the silent crumpled figure on the floor and gave the room number. So long as she stood beside him, the Hand would not prevail. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified.
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